


Half-Past Two

by sheepyshavings



Series: so she comes in like thunder [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, a very tipsy angie martinelli, but there's also some funny, peggy climbing buildings, peggy tossing angie, sorry this gets more serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepyshavings/pseuds/sheepyshavings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Peggy is not drunk when she looks down at her watch and sees that it’s half-past two. In fact, she sobered up rather quickly when she stared up at the brick wall two minutes earlier and realized that her right arm was virtually useless after pinning down several grown men in an arm wrestling competition, making the task ahead almost impossible.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In which Peggy has to sneak a not-so-sober Angie Martinelli into the Griffith after hours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-Past Two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarah_dude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarah_dude/gifts).



> I'd like to thank [sarah_dude](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sarah_dude/) for beta'ing this and giving some great feedback. Also for generally being amazing.
> 
> (a follow up to "Something Up Her Sleeve")

Peggy is not drunk when she looks down at her watch and sees that it’s half-past two. In fact, she sobered up rather quickly when she stared up at the brick wall two minutes earlier and realized that her right arm was virtually useless after pinning down several grown men in an arm wrestling competition, making the task ahead almost impossible. 

Which is why they’re still on the ground. Angie is swaying next to her, grip tight around her forearm and head nestled into the crook of her neck. She keeps murmuring something about muscles and gin and tonic, but none of it makes sense. 

“Angie,” Peggy says, gently nudging her. “We have to get inside.” 

“Too hard,” Angie mumbles into her sleeve. “Just wanna sleep.” 

Peggy moves toward the fire escape, seeing it as their best option to scale the building and break into their bedrooms. That is, is Mrs. Fry doesn’t chance a look out her window and see the two drunken miscreants trying to sneak in. Best case scenario, she’ll think they’re only another pair of reckless men trying to enter into Fort Knox. Worst case, they’ll be packing their bags tomorrow and, either way, Mrs. Fry will be lecturing the breakfast crowd in the morning. 

They’ll have bigger problems if that happens. Right now, Peggy’s only goal is to hoist Angie from the gravely pavement up onto the first platform of the fire escape,all while trying not to rip her own arm out of its socket. 

“Angie,” she repeats. Angie finally lifts her head off Peggy’s shoulder and stares up, eyes half-focused and glazed over. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m going to lift you onto the fire escape.” 

“What?” 

Peggy pulls Angie forward toward the wall of the Griffith, sizing up the gap between the ground and the rough metal platform above. 

“English, you still drunk?” 

“No, I’m really not.”

“You’re kidding me?” 

“Be a dear and stand in front of me, please.” 

Angie raises her eyebrow and looks like she’s about to say something else, but goes to stand in front of Peggy anyway, her back pressing against Peggy’s chest. It’s far closer than she wished Angie to be, but she notices that underneath the cigarette smoke and booze, her hair smells like rose perfume and maple syrup. It takes her aback, the way her heart stutters in her chest at the closeness and the smell. She blinks rapidly, shaking her head and moving Angie a step forward. 

Peggy can’t actually decide if this idea is a complete bust or brilliant, but she had lied to herself when she said she wasn’t drunk. Maybe she’s still a little tipsy or maybe it’s the way Angie is standing there with her arms out like she’s on the bow of a ship and her body is _still_ too close to her own. In any case, all that goes through her mind is _lift._ She’s never been one for thinking things through before doing them. 

“I’m going to give you a boost now. Are you ready?” 

Angie turns around just enough to give Peggy a salute and a lopsided smile. Peggy stumbles for a moment, every nerve in her body telling her to salute back. She presses her hands into Angie’s sides, gripping just above her hipbones. Angie, good for her, doesn’t so much as flinch as Peggy’s fingers dig into her dress. 

“Ready when you are, Captain.” 

It’s not the best idea Peggy has ever had, but by some miracle Angie ends up sprawled on top of the metal rungs of the fire escape. Peggy’s right arm screams in pain and she’s just barely able to push upward against Angie’s weight and raise her up. There’s a grunt of discomfort from above and a string of swear words, but she makes it. Peggy lets out a long breath and tries to slow her heartbeat and soothe her arm. She presses her fingers into the muscle there and looks up. 

“Angie?” she hisses, hoping the loud thump and exclamations the other woman made hasn’t woken any prying eyes. There are a slew of windows flanking the fire escape that aren’t much more soundproof that army-issued tents. (She knows this too well from the frequent sirens that keep her up at all hours whenever she manages to makes it back into her own room for a night’s rest.) 

“M’good, English,” Angie calls back, and Peggy has to shush her. 

“I’ll be off in a minute if you wake Mrs. Fry.” 

Angie shuffles on her stomach over the platform, mussing up the front of her dress. Her lipstick is mostly gone, some of it smeared across her cheek and the other decorating her front teeth. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

Peggy feels a smile bloom on her face and she shakes her head. 

“No,” she concedes, “I would never leave you to face the wrath of Mrs. Fry alone.” 

“You’re a good-” _hiccup- “_ egg, Peggy.” Angie’s hiccup echoes spectacularly down the the side of building. “A very good eggy Peggy.” Angie dissolves into stifled giggles above her, and Peggy drops her head and can’t believe this is where her night ended up. 

“Move back, please or I’m afraid I’ll knock you unconscious trying to get up.” 

Angie lets her head fall over the side and really gives Peggy a good look, as if she suddenly realized how much of a lift she’d gotten earlier. Peggy gives the distance another glance too, eyeing the bricks sticking out of the Griffith and deciding if there are enough handholds to hoist herself upward- providing her arm allows for it, of course. 

She takes a step back and is suddenly very aware of the concrete below her heels and the way it grates against her shoes. She doesn’t dwell on how it might feel to miss the fire escape and get up close and personal with the ground. It’s not the highest jump she’s ever attempted. It’s certainly not the most dangerous, either, not by a long shot. Howevre, she’s only climbed a building in heels and a dress a few times before, and only one time intoxicated. She can say for certain that particular time didn’t end gracefully. 

“You gonna make it or should I find my way back down?” Angie says from her perch. She sits up now, holding her knees against her chest and leaning against the Griffith wall. 

“Just give me one more minute.” Peggy’s hands shake as she hikes up her dress above her knees, tying a knot on the side to keep it from catching. Angie whistles from above and Peggy feels her cheeks redden. 

“I told you… Broadway legs,” Angie says before sliding backward and leaving room for Peggy to land. 

Which she does. Peggy doesn’t doubt her physical prowess, not even when scrambling against loose bricks and trying to find footholds, all while being as quiet as she can. She feels Angie’s hand grab her arm as she reaches the edge of the fire escape, hauling her body over the edge and finally laying on her back. Her chest is heaving, her right arm has lost feeling completely, but the hard metal below her confirms her success. 

It’s not the stupidest thing she’s ever done. 

“Geeze, you’re just full of surprises tonight.” 

“Indeed.” Peggy wheezes. She pulls herself up with the help of Angie. The heels of her shoes topple awkwardly in the grates of the fire escape, and both of them threaten to tip over the railing. They regain their footing and begin the ascent up the stairs. Angie’s heels clatter against the metal so much that Peggy stops her after a few steps. 

“Shoes off?” she suggests, bending down to slip her heels off. When she places her feet back down, her stockings meet a cold landing. 

Angie snorts and removes her own heels, placing them in her handbag so the toes of the shoes poke out of the top. She holds her bag in front of Peggy and starts giggling. 

“If only Mrs. Fry could see us now.” 

Peggy doesn’t want to know what Mrs. Fry might do if she saw them, and, out of habit, she glances up at the windows peppering the brick wall. They’re all dark, glass clouded by the heavy curtains that lie inside. The only noises around them are the rushing of cars on the street in front of the Griffith. 

“I think she would certainly be surprised.” 

Peggy gives Angie a little shove to keep moving. It’s just a gentle nudge really, but Angie stumbles and Peggy catching her is the only thing that keeps them from dismantling the fire escape completely in a free fall down two flights of metal grates. 

“Shh!” Angie says through a muffled laugh, raising a finger to her lips. She rights herself and practically crawls up to the third floor of the building. Peggy’s heart is racing from the near-fall and she curses under her breath, making sure to stay close enough to Angie to right her if anything happens again. She’s never seen anyone stay so drunk for so long, not even any of the Commandos after she and Steve drank them under the table at an underground bar in the south of France. 

“Hey, Pegs?” Peggy looks up, where Angie has made herself at home, curled up in the corner of the third floor landing. She climbs the last few steps, eyes searching for her own window in relation to the fire escape. It’s further away than she thought. Shit. 

“Yes?” Peggy replies without really glancing over, instead looking for some sort of way to maneuver Angie across twenty feet of brick wall and drainage piping. 

“How’re we getting inside?” 

Peggy, a super spy with years and years of training under her belt, being relatively sober at this point, and having done this before, has completely forgotten to take this final step into account. She’d been concentrating so much on getting Angie from point A to B that hoisting her into a closed window dozens of meters away hadn’t quite pinged her radar. She looks at the inebriated woman laying on the ground next to her. 

“I thought we might climb in through my window…” Peggy’s voice trails off before she even finishes the phrase, realizing there is not a chance in the world that Angie can scale walls, regardless of her condition. 

“You’re yanking my chain, right?” 

“Yes, I think I am.” 

They stare at each other until the reality of their situation dawns on them. Peggy cracks first, putting a hand to her mouth to quiet her laughter as she crouches to sit next to Angie. Angie throws her head back and actually _guffaws_ , shoulders shaking and she begins wheezing moments later. They sit like that for a few moments until both of them wipe away the moisture that had gathered under their eyes. Peggy lets out a final shuddering breath and blinks away a few tears, looking up into the sky above them. The city lights make it impossible to see many stars, but a few persistent specks of light are scattered across the dark blue above them. 

“Let’s sleep here tonight and figure something out tomorrow,” she says, already relaxing against the metal pole pressing into her coat. 

In the dim light, Peggy turns her head to see Angie’s eyes peacefully closed, her chest rising and falling slowly. It seems she agreed. 

Angie’s breathing becomes steady, punctuated by the blare of car horns and chattering crowds on the streets in front of the Griffith. Peggy shifts on the metal landing to get better situated, pulling down on her dress and closing her coat around herself. The early morning air is beginning to settle around them, damp and cloying, smelling like wetness and smoke. The skyline hovers in the distance, looming silhouettes aglow even at this hour. 

It’s beautiful in New York City at three A.M. 

Peggy closes her eyes, though sleep is still far off. Her skin tingles from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins and the excitement of the night tickling the edges of her mind. Her arm is still hanging limply at her side. She hopes that the feeling comes back to it soon, and knows it will be stiff as a board in the morning. 

“Hm, English?” 

Peggy starts at the sound, supposing Angie to still be asleep. She looks over and sees the other woman stir, eyes still closed. 

“Are you alright?” Peggy asks. 

“Cold,” Angie replies, and simply proceeds to nuzzle up against Peggy’s side. Her head rests against Peggy’s neck, hips bumping as she scoots closer. 

Peggy stiffens at the contact. She looks down and opens her mouth to say something, but sees Angie has fallen asleep again. Had she even been awake? 

Peggy makes to shift, but Angie makes a low whine the moment she moves her shoulder. She tries again, and Angie’s brows knit together. She sighs, and leans back, closing her eyes. 

Angie’s body is heavy against hers, and she would never admit it, but the warmth that seeps against her is welcome against the slight chill. With her eyes closed, she can feel every twitch, hear every hitched breath and when Angie moves, her nose brushes Peggy’s neck. 

Peggy feels a heat creep up the back of her neck that has nothing to do with the extra body heat. 

Or maybe it has everything to do with the extra body heat. She doesn’t let people sleep against her, or cuddle, or use her as an extra blanket. She tucks her head down and tries to nod off, but the persistent pressure against her arm won’t be ignored. 

She chastises herself and tries to relax her shoulders, falling into a fitful sleep minutes later.

 

\--

 

A car blaring its horn on the street near them abruptly wakes Peggy. Her eyes snap open and her arm reaches down to her side to meet empty space where a gun would usually be.. She frantically takes in her surroundings and lets out a deep breath when she realizes where she is. 

When she calms, she notices a weight on her shoulder. One arm clinging to her own, Angie is nestled against her and still snoring slightly. Her curls are loose and frayed around her face, cheeks pink from the morning chill. The sky above them is grey, clouds knit together to keep out any hint of sunlight. 

Peggy shakes her arm uncomfortably, waking Angie next to her, who startles when she opens her eyes. There’s sleep caked into the corners and she looks around before relaxing. 

“Oh, God, I completely forgot where we were for a second.” Angie snorts and lets her head fall back against the hand railing, face twisted into agony a second letter. She groans and lifts a hand to press over her eyes. 

“Jeeze, Louise,” she grumbles, blindly reaching for her purse, which Peggy puts into her lap. 

“A bit hungover?” 

Angie doesn’t reply, just fishes through her bag until she pulls out a little packet and dry swallows the two aspirin that come out. She puts her heads into her hands afterwards, curling her knees into her chest. 

“How did we get up here?” she asks. 

Peggy stretches her legs out, her neck cracking terribly as she sits up straight. She winces at the noise. 

“I lifted you, don’t you remember?” She stands up, doing her best to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress, an impossible task. She reaches for Angie, who, after some strain, gets up off the grates. 

“Sort of?” Angie gives Peggy one of those lopsided grins and Peggy’s chest tightens. She feels her traitorous heart begin to beat quickly and turns away. There’s that damned uncomfortable feeling again.  
"How's your arm?" Angie pokes at Peggy's right hand.  
  
"Miserable, actually." Peggy hasn't moved the arm yet, but it feels both numb and sore at the same time. She reckons a hot bath and then a bag of ice will be in order.

“We really should get inside or Mrs. Fry will wonder where we’ve been,” she says after a moment.

She hears Angie follow her down the steps. Peggy hopes no one looks up to see the commotion. 

“Pegs, what time is it?” Angie’s voice sounds like sandpaper is lining her throat and both of them reek of liquor and smoke. If they can so much get past the front hallway it will be a blessing. 

Peggy reaches deep into her purse to pull out her watch, shoved somewhere into the depths between the tissues and lipstick at some point in the night. She holds it up and squints at it, feeling a small headache of her own poking at the edges of her skull. 

“A bit after nine. Breakfast will be over by now, and I expect Mrs. Fry will have noticed our absence.” 

“What are we gonna do? Pull your signature move and sneak in through the laundry room?” 

Peggy turns around abruptly. “What?” 

Angie snorts. “Don’t think you’re as sneaky as you want to be. I might have seen you once or twice.” 

Peggy hearts hammers now for an entirely different reason, mind flickering through the different nights she used more-than-forbidden ways to enter the Griffith and how Angie could have possibly seen her. 

“So, who’s the lucky guy?” 

She doesn’t understand the question for a minute, stopping on the fire escape and looking back. 

“What?” 

“Oh, come on, don’t play stupid. You got some fellow that’s really worth the looming threat of Miriam Fry?” 

A man. _Oh._ Angie thinks she’s seeing a man. She laughs, and continues down the steps, turning onto the bottom platform. 

“No, there’s no man. I just fancy a night out here and there. A bit of a rush, you know.” 

“Uh huh.” Angie’s not convinced in the slightest, Peggy can see it on her face. But there’s something else, too, beyond the hangover, beyond the sleep-dazed eyes. Angie’s smile doesn’t quite make the same little laugh lines along her face, doesn’t quite light up like it had the night before. 

There’s something nagging inside of Peggy, below the surface and pressing at the seams of her consciousness. 

Peggy holds Angie’s hands at she lowers her off the edge of the bottom platform, dropping her gently onto the ground. Angie, although hungover and looking worse for wear, lands smoothly and turns to watch as Peggy hangs herself off the edge before coming down as well. 

When they round the corner to the front of the Griffith, Peggy takes a quick look at herself, wrinkled dress and tousled hair, before turning to Angie asking, “How do I look?” 

Angie gives her a thorough once-over and frowns. “You ain’t looking particularly refined, if you know what I mean. How about me?” 

Angie looks no better than herself, Peggy surmises, lipstick completely gone except for a smear across her upper cheek (how _did_ that happen?) and a shadow of mascara under her eyelids. 

“Here, let me just clean you up,” Peggy says before reaching over and wiping the lipstick from Angie’s face. The other woman freezes at her touch, shrinking backward. 

“It’s alright, I got it.” Angie brings her hand up and wipes around her eyes. Then, “You’ve got some lipstick here,” she says, pointing to her own face along her jawline. “Should come off with a tissue, or something.” She reaches around in her purse, muttering under her breath. Her cheeks begin to turn pink, and Peggy is rather confused. 

“Are you alright, Angie?” 

“Fine!” Angie says. “Just the headache, I think. I’m still feeling a bit woozy, is all.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Angie says, waving it off. She marches up the steps to the Griffith, patting her hair down and walking like someone stuck a metal pole down her spine. Peggy trails after her, knowing there is nothing more she can do to make herself, or Angie, look presentable. If Mrs. Fry gives them hell, she has nothing to say except it was a damn good night. 

By some miracle, the lobby is only occupied by a few Griffith girls who are looming over Sunday newspapers or chatting in armchairs with cups of tea. None of them pay much attention to the two women hurrying along the tiled floor. No one notices their tired eyes or the way they look like they’d rolled around in the street the night before. 

Angie doesn’t speak with Peggy as they ascend the stairs, but she does slip off her heels and carry them in her arms. Peggy does the same, the carpet feeling like heaven against her feet. Without alcohol in her system, the toll of the shoes makes itself known, her calves screaming at her as she climbs to the third floor. 

Peggy calls out for Angie to wait when they reach the third floor but Angie is already halfway down the hall. 

“Can I get you something? Alka-Seltzer? Food? I don’t mind sneaking into the kitchens.” 

Angie drops her purse by her door and smiles. “Nah, English. I think I’ll sleep this one off today. I got nothing else to do, and this headache is my own doing.” 

“Are you sure? You seem a bit… off.” 

Angie looks more tired, then the smile drifts off her face and leaves something forlorn in its wake. “Just not a hundred percent right now.” 

“Well, I hope you feel better soon,” is all Peggy can offer, not sure what’s wrong with Angie beyond the hangover. The usual zest in her eyes is dimmed and her voice is wavering uncharacteristically. 

“I had a lovely evening,” Peggy adds. “I’m glad you convinced me going out would be fun.” 

“Yeah, me, too,” Angie says, fishing in her pocket for the key to her room. Peggy mirrors her, turning the door handle to her own room. 

“I’ll be seeing you later, then.” Peggy raises a hand to give a small wave. She feels foolish doing do, but she’s not sure how else to part. 

Angie nods, then drops her hand from the doorknob she’d been twisting and turns, walking over to her. Before Peggy can say anything a pair of soft lips press gently against the corner of her mouth. Peggy can smell her stale breath and the inane thought passes through her head that her own breath is probably just as rank. Angie pulls back after a second, and Peggy can see her hands trembling at her sides. 

“You’re something, English.” 

Angie quickly turns around then, pulls her door open, and disappears inside her room. Peggy is left standing in the hall with her purse falling out of her hand and her mouth prickling. Her legs begin to feel unsteady beneath her so she does the only thing she can think to do and unlocks her door. When she gets into her room, she drops her purse on the ground next to her bed and sits on the edge. 

She draws a blank, trying to piece together things that won’t piece together. Her infallible mind fails her, so she just continues to sit. 

She strains for any hint of Angie in the room next to her, the sound of footsteps or the faucet being turned on in the bathroom but it’s silent. 

It’s nearly a half hour before Peggy moves again, slipping out of her clothes and tossing them into her laundry hamper. When she’s undressed, she puts on a robe. She heads to the kitchen after to fill a cup with water, wine, juice- anything to occupy herself. 

Peggy’s hands tremble as she tries to hold the cup steady. She reaches up to touch the edge of her lip, brushing over the skin and searching for any hint of what had passed. 

When the glass is full, she sinks onto the kitchen floor, leaving the cup next to her. She looks up at the ceiling, fixing her eyes on the water stain above that ebbs along the white plaster into the walls. 

Peggy Carter is ready for many things, but she isn’t quite ready for the way her body suddenly tenses and a sob escapes her throat. She quickly covers her mouth with her hand, but another sob follows. She closes her eyes and drops her head, trying so desperately to quell the way her body begins to shake, but it feels like her skin is on fire. 

The clock next to her bed chimes half past ten, and outside, rain begins to fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry. I was thinking of ending it in a positive place and then I realized I just couldn't. I'll be working on the third part soon, of x parts. I haven't a clue how many parts this will be yet, and I don't plan much before embarking on projects. But it will have a happy ending, that I can promise you.


End file.
